


Missing Piece Of Me

by ladyofdecember



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Stark's Pond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4877164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdecember/pseuds/ladyofdecember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle thinks about what a best friend is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Piece Of Me

He walked the path slowly, taking his time looking around and taking it all in. The cold wind whipped around him, chapping his already dry lips and making him shiver slightly.

The snow crunched beneath his black, worn sneakers with each ginger step that he took. He cast his eyes skyward at the dull, gray coloring. Clouds seemed to blow by careless and indifferent it seemed to the lonely boy below.

The whole area was covered in a white blanket of snow, looking like a perfect winter wonderland if not for the patches of muddy brown that were scattered about here and there. He sighed heavily, pausing near a tall tree whose leaves had fallen off now that they were in the depths of winter. Its bare branches stuck out like long, skinny knives reaching out for something located in the dismal sky up above.

Shivering once again as the bone chilling wind picked up, he decided to continue on, not wanting to get frostbitten from his respite.

Winding between the massive trees and through the bushes covering the very familiar woods, he began to come to a clearing. He let his eyes roam over the frozen, glassy ice laid out before him. He'd memorized the entire expanse, having been many times over the years.

There were so many memories connected with this spot, this whole area. The earliest one he could remember had to be from when he was about five-years-old. Of course, that was only the beginning as they'd spent almost all of their years here together. They'd played here so often as children, it became a second home. 

Blinking back a few tears that emerged from the memories, he forced himself to move closer to the pond despite feeling nauseous at the very idea of being back here once again. 

A dull ache began in his chest, so familiar to him by this point that he even welcomed it by now. It was almost comforting as depressingly morbid as that sounded in his mind. He crossed his arms across his chest, trying to keep some of his body heat in as he stood staring out at the immense body of water that lay beneath a beautiful and shiny layer of ice. He fell into deep contemplation. 

A best friend was not a term that could be strictly defined. It could mean many things to many people. It could have many definitions. A best friend is someone you can always turn to; someone who is always there for you. It means that they are your friend but also that they are the very best and most loyal friend you could ever hope to have. Best friends were a rarity in life, coming around only every so often. And, for some, only once in their lifetime. 

He had always believed a best friend was more like a soul mate; someone you shared your life with -the good and the bad. They were the first person you thought of when you received good news. You just had to find them so you could tell them right away. They were the person that you turned to when you'd had a terrible day. Only they could make it better. And, most of all, they were the one person who would be there for you, even if it was 3 AM and they were asleep. If you woke them up, they wouldn't get mad, not if you truly needed them. It's not in the nature of a best friend to be angry about something so petty. And if they did get angry, well then, maybe they weren't your best friend after all.

He took a few deep breaths in and out, blinking rapidly as more tears threatened to fall from his eyes. The wind picked up again, whirling around him so hard that he almost lost his hat. He had to reach up quickly to catch it and keep it from blowing away. Licking his wind chapped lips he shut his eyes, just listening to the sounds around him. It was pretty quiet as he had expected it to be. Not many people visited here anymore. In the distance, however, he could hear the quiet melody of a bird's chirping. He imagined it singing only for him, its cheerful song reaching out in this moment when it was needed most.

Opening his eyes once more, he let them roam over to a section of the ice near the bottom of the town's most famous hill. He remembers that patch of ice like it was yesterday. Going ice skating used to be his favorite thing in the world. As kids, the two of them must have gone every single day once the surface had frozen over each winter. He'd always been clumsy, even as a child, so it'd taken him a long time to actually master the ability of skating on ice. How many times had they fallen together in that very spot? He tried to smile at the warmth of the memory but failed, feeling too cold both outside and in.

His eyes traveled up and over towards the colossal hill, also covered with powdery, soft snow. He remembers long days spent atop that hill, afternoons filled with sled races and laughter that echoed all throughout their small mountain town.

Swallowing the painful lump that formed in his throat, he forced himself to look away and back towards the way he'd came. Gazing back towards the town, he was able to just barely make out the seasoned buildings on the horizon. His eyes then fell and landed on a solitary wooden bench, splintered with age from where it sat directly in front of the pond. The old and declining sign stuck into the ground next to it was beginning to keel over from all of the wind and also, most likely, age. The paint was beginning to peel and disappear more and more each day but he could still make it out. Its black letters read “Stark's Pond” in bold capitalization and he wondered just how many generations had enjoyed the pond like his used to.

The wind began to toss around the prickly and spindly branches of the trees that hung overhead. The chill that hung in the air increased causing him to cross his arms against his chest again, trying desperately to fight off the bitter cold. The temperature was really beginning to drop now that the sun was setting. Walking over to the bench he hesitated for a few moments before sitting down upon it.

He watched the sun as it drifted slowly downward on the horizon, beginning to disappear behind the great and breathtaking mountains that stood there. The sky was changing now, its color moving from the mild yellow and orange of the evening to the dusky twilight that usually accompanied this time of day.

Letting his gloved hand brush against the dark, burnished wood of the seat, he took in a shuddering breath. He began to feel the pain bloom inside of him as the events of the past two months finally began to sink in with a finality that he wasn't sure he was ready to accept.

“I won't forget, Stan. I promise. I'll never forget you.” Kyle muttered quietly into the silent and empty evening glow around him.

Tears finally spilled over and out of his eyes but he made no move to brush them away, instead ignoring the sting that they left behind on his cheeks as they rolled down. He remained there in the same spot until well after sunset. How long he remained he didn't know exactly, barely registering the passage of time as the feeling of grief consumed him completely.


End file.
